Prelude
by Orange Blossom Nin
Summary: [Character Driven] [Mulit-Chapter] Relena Dorlian Peacecraft. Who is she? A deepening introspective look into the life of a shrewd and cold woman.


Part 1: Beginning  
  
I don't wish to breathe right now.  
  
I suppose that statement seems shocking to most but I truly don't wish to. Nothing is wrong but it does not mean anything is right either. It simply is what it is at the moment, I do not wish to breathe but that does not mean I do not wish to live. But breathing itself is a strange thing, automatic, without thinking you are breathing but what if you did not, what if no air could reach your lungs and you simply were without.  
  
Eventually your mind would take over and without a conscious effort on your part you would take a breath. In that moment of silence before though... It seems endless, infinitely indescribable, as you stand on the edge of death's domain staring down into the million haunted eyes. And perhaps a more philosophical person than I would ask who am I? But all I wish to do is simply sit at the edge and dangle my feet down and maybe I won't have to think.  
  
Do I seem kind to you? As a person am I loving, caring, generous? Because really I am not. I'm a rather cold person inside; I prefer to be isolated away from annoying questions and the idiotic people who ask them. I would build myself a refuge if I could. Were only I could go, as myself, all alone. My books would surround each room; their warmth would be my companion.  
  
I wish to be silent, not having to speaking about ideals that have haunted me for years. Now they are only words, empty and filled with false promises, but they drink them in like honey. Nobody can see can they? Perhaps I have found my refuge in myself, nobody can touch it anymore. Once when I was younger I slipped letting my façade fall for the briefest instant and they saw. But they didn't realize it; no they did not, how could they when they did not look?  
  
What they didn't see was my coldness, my hate, my suffrage, I wanted out but there was, there is no way. I do not pity myself, I choose this for myself and I will take the consequences. One thing that does not change from my mask to myself is my determination; if I have made up my mind I will do it. Nothing will get in my way for they cannot touch me for truly I am nothing.  
  
I am not a foolish person, I do not wish to die as I already have said, I will not commit suicide in some dramatic, flowery way and my love will come back to me, regretting that he didn't love me sooner. No, as I told you I do not love, it is a choice out of character rather than need. I do not wish to love; it is not some all consuming desire in my chest that haunts my steps. It is a fanciful gesture; empty of everything it is supposed to posses. I pretended to love once but like all things in my life, it was an act, a simple masquerade that worked well. To well, it made me question the intelligence I surround myself with.  
  
Are people really that ignorant? Or do they simply ignore what they do not wish to see or hear? I observe wherever I go, I observe life and the more I see the more I wish not to be apart of it. They suck away at every possible syrupy word, yet miss the small little nut of truth as bitter as it may be. Follow blindly and you shall be happy all ye days, does that not sound as if it could have been written in some great work of fluff? One that would have shamed the likes of Poe, Thoreau, and perhaps even Whitman?  
  
I remember flipping idly through a literature book at a high school I was visiting, I came upon Poe and filled with sudden disgust. Why do they know? They break down every line, every word, every meaning and make it into dribble that can be swallowed by the common idiocy of teenagers. It was only the many years of self- control that let me gently close the cover again, instead of slamming it closed and flinging it against the wall.  
  
I looked up and meet eyes with a young woman in the second row, she had seen and she knew, but it did not scare me. I saw in her eyes the same disgust, the same hate, and the same want to be alone that filled mine in my most private moments. It seemed an minute but really it was only seconds as we drilled our gazes into each other's minds. Breaking off we became the guarded creatures we had been forced to become and it was over.  
  
I do not romanticize the fact that there are others like me in the world; I have known from the beginning that I was not the only one. But it brought me strange satisfaction to see that girl that day, she would become like me, perhaps not one with great power or media attention, but she would be. She would carry a mask over her eyes at all time, guarding her precious hate and loathing from the rest of the world, disgusted with all around her.  
  
Disgust... That is a good word, disgust, it means a great dislike. I have always thought that, that definition was to weak, disgust should mean something like, a great loathing or a great distaste. I am disgust, I am the truest form of it, I revel in it and divulge in its hate. Sometimes I envision saying exactly what I wish to at a conference and a feeling of great glee wells up inside of me. How wonderful it would be to see their shocked and appalled faces then I could be alone.  
  
Now that I shown you who I am, what I feel, what my convictions are I have one question for you...  
  
Do you hate me?  
  
I hope so  
  
Prelude: End  
  
***  
  
If you flame me shouting what the hell was that? Relena is a bitch! You totally ruined her! Than you shouldn't be reading this story. I have begun what I hope to be an intelligent, introspective piece and I wish my reader's to be the same.  
  
To those of you who did get and did enjoy it, I hope you review and tell me what you think. I am always ready and willing to listen to a valid and justifiable point of view. As always thank you for reading my few words.  
  
See you soon.  
  
"A picture is worth a thousand words, but are my thousand word's worth a picture?" 


End file.
